Talos Be With You
by Radiant.Pleasures
Summary: With a means for success on the horizon for the Imperials, Legate Rikke comes to realize how important this gridlock with the Stormcloaks is to her, but how important Imperial victory is for Skyrim. She must choose to safeguard her heart or safeguard her people.
1. Prelude

**Disclaimer and Rating**

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I don't own any of the characters in this story. They are all the intellectual property of Bethesda and Skyrim's creators. The M rating is in regards to violence and explicit sexual content in later chapters.

**Prelude**

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Second-in-Command of the Imperial Legion seemed a place destined for Rikke. A daughter of two Legionnaires, she could see no other place for herself growing up. Her greatest wish is to see Skyrim whole again. With the Civil War between the Imperial Legion and the Stormcloaks being at a stalemate for months, that destiny seems far beyond the horizon. Yet when the young Dovahkiin and Thane of Whiterun Hold appears in Solitude to join the Imperial Legion, it seems that the Legion has just gained a leg up. While it should rightfully thrill any Legionnaire, Rikke comes to realize the gravity of the choice that has fallen into her hands. Preserve the stalemate that is important to her, or spearhead the victory that is important to the rest of Skyrim.


	2. Chapter 1: Spit and Thu'um

**Chapter 1: Spit and Thu'um**

* * *

Months. For _months_ they had been gridlocked with the Stormcloaks in this war. For _months_ it had seemed like each side had the foresight to meet the other at their next planned conquest, resulting in what felt like an eternal stalemate. The Imperials would plan an ambush on a Stormcloak camp but find upon their arrival that the presence there had been doubled. Word would come in that the Stormcloaks were planning to attack an Imperial camp, so they would move the camp in cover of darkness. And these messages... Well, there were two ways of viewing the messages. Some saw them as messages of the gods. Whether it was Akatosh allowing them this knowledge or simply some twisted game played by the Daedra like... Well, about the closest to reality that she had heard was that it was Sanguine and Sheogorath playing a game of chess – and neither could figure out how to checkmate. Others were somewhat more primordial in their beliefs and insisted that a traitor was in their midst.

Rikke had heard that several times. Had actually been asked by several people if she thought there was a traitor. Each time it was ironic. Each time she had swallowed back laughter. Partly because it was a ridiculous assertion. If there was a traitor, one side would actually have a leg up. 'Either there are two traitors,' she would always reply, 'Or we're both just being too loose-lipped with our information'. After all, Legionnaires drank. Stormcloaks drank. They both went to small towns and inns that would welcome them for a drink and some song. It was far too easy when drinking to forget yourself and say all sorts of things...

But now, that stalemate may have been coming to an end. None other than the Dovahkiin had come falling through the doors of Castle Dour a few days ago. And Rikke wasn't exaggerating when she said 'falling'. The Dovahkiin was a young Breton. But a wisp of a boy, though he adamantly claimed to be twenty. Adamantly. A little _too_ adamantly. She'd dismissed questions of his age. If he was old enough to be the Dovahkiin and an (apparently) esteemed Thane of Whiterun Hold, he was old enough to serve the Legion. After all, if he was _truly_ the Dovahkiin as he claimed, he would be more powerful than the standard Imperial soldier. Much more powerful. Clearly, however, that time was not now. While the Dovahkiin was recognized by the Greybeards as having the Talent of the Voice (a rumor that had raged across Skyrim like flame over oil), he was still in the midst of proving himself. Yes, he'd bested a dragon at Helgen and another out in Whiterun with Jarl Balgruuf's housecarl, Irileth, but if his words were true (and the nosiest of Skyrim would always know whether or not they were), he was in the middle of a sort of quest for the Greybeards. Something that would earn his title, evidently. Something about a horn and a wind and Rikke hadn't really been paying too much attention. Her head was still spinning over the fact that it was the self-proclaimed Dovahkiin here, attempting to join the Legion.

Perhaps 'self-proclaimed' was a bit harsh. He had proven his ability to use the Voice. Upon coming to Castle Dour, he'd practically been laughed out the door with his confession of being Dovahkiin. But his insistence (albeit in that pitiful little voice that he'd hopefully learn to control in the future) had resulted in an audience with General Tullius, Legate Rikke, and a few other Imperial Leggionaires as the Dovahkiin demonstrated a shout. It was a rainy day out, yet following a shout that Rikke heard as 'Lok', the weather cleared up beautifully for about 25 seconds. Adventus Caessennius - another Legate of Haafingar - had stormed up to watch, demanding another Thu'um in order to trust in the Dovahkiin. Rikke was fairly sure that Adventus had since regretted his demand after being thrown about fifty feet into the castle wall by a wrongly aimed 'Fus' shout. Last she'd seen him roaming Castle Dour, he was still rubbing his backside and muttering about 'pretentiousness of visitors' and 'cockiness of younglings'.

The Dovahkiin (perhaps it would be nicer if Rikke thought of him by name) – Vinnar – was somewhat sheepish in telling them that he was still learning, and that with time and training, he would learn more shouts and they would become stronger. He also came bearing evidence of his stay with the Greybeards – his assignment to retrieve the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller. _That's_ what it was - the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller. Rikke knew the skeleton of the legends, but was by no means an expert in the material. Who was to argue with that? It's not like she was going to send someone to trek up there to ask the Greybears at High Hrothgar if this wisp was truly the Dovahkiin. That would be impertinent, aside the fact that the Greybeards didn't take visitors and... Well... They didn't talk.

Good thing, too. They spoke and it stormed. Storms weren't good for Legion movement. They could bind their mouths shut for all Rikke cared, so long as their idle chitter-chatter or whatever it was didn't interfere with her plans...

In any case, the Dovahkiin, she supposed, was here. And it had General Tullius in a bit of an uproar. He was elated that the Dovahkiin was joining their cause. Rikke had to remind him several times that the Dovahkiin was not yet any more powerful than their best armsmen, owing to his lack of training. That it would take time for him to grow into what he was learning to be a true asset - time _and focus_, for power was dangerous if it could not be harnessed properly. Tullius had simply reprimanded her for comparing him to wine or cheese (Rikke assumed because she insinuated he would better with age – which wasn't a _bad_ thing) and had continued in his relentless pacing and exclamations of joy. After about twenty minutes of such elation, he had insisted on informing Emperor Titus Mede II about this new development. Quickly, Rikke had launched herself over the table and snatched the belt around Tullius' hips in perhaps the _most_ unprofessional manner in which Rikke had _ever_ conducted herself in the War Room. It was met with an almost comical exchange of looks of confusion and a bashful and embarrassed flush from Rikke.

"I think... With all due respect, General... That we should wait to tell the Emperor."

Instantly, Tullius began waving his arms about and squawking about hope and perseverance and the right to know. It was moments like this that reminded Rikke why the War Room was not open to all – should soldiers see Tullius like this, it would no doubt discredit some of his carefully constructed reputation. She, however, found his tangents to bring a much-needed levity to many politically charged situations - when used properly

"How could you _possibly_ think that Emperor Titus does not have the right to know about this? This is... This could be... This is _monumental_, Rikke! It could bring hope! Those fighting for the Legion could swell with pride, knowing that the _Dovahkiin_ is on the side of the Legion. The Stormcloaks... Well, they could back down. Or their supporters could see the Dovahkiin's position and begin supporting the Legion! This could put wheels into motion, Rikke."

"I understand that, Tullius. And I respect it. I do. For it is true. However, think of it this way: What if the Dovahkiin changes his mind? What if the Dovahkiin does not learn fast enough and... Forgive my insinuation... _Dies_? Then what? We have built up his presence in the minds of the Emperor and the people, and then what? We must turn around and inform them of his _death_?"

She could see from the way that Tullius observed her that the cogs were beginning to shift in his head. He knew that she had a point. But he was frustrated at his need to keep this information to himself when it could have such productive outcomes – despite possible consequences.

"Then what, Rikke," he sighed, sinking into his seat dejectedly, "You believe we should _never_ tell them that the Dovahkiin fights for them?"

"That's not what I said, Tullius." Goodness, he had a knack for blowing things out of proportion. The prime example of a pessimist. "All I'm saying is don't tell them _now_. Wait until the right moment."

"Which is?"

"Which is when the Dovahkiin is stronger. When he has proven himself both as a Legionnaire _and_ as the Dovahkiin. When he is able to hold his own and be the idol for the masses that we need." What she really wanted to say was when he grew up and both looked and acted more the part. "When morale sinks – and you know it will after this long – wait. Wait until the people are just waiting for an out. When we are losing footsoldiers and losing faith. Then, present the Dovahkiin to the people. Use him to keep people supporting the Legion. Use him to bring them out of the slump that all people fall into when war continues to tear them apart. But save him for when he can make the best impression. Result in the best outcome. Do the best good."

The creases in Tullius' forehead deepened as he chewed over Rikke's words. She was right. He would be a beautiful addition to the Legion whenever he was presented, but he had more potential if it was done at the proper time. "By the Nines, I hate when you're right."

"You must hate every second of every day, then."

A cheeky grin was met with a chuckle from Tullius. "Perhaps I'm getting old. Perhaps I should just retire and let you take the Legion. I always listen to you, anyway."

Rising from the table, he sniffed a bit as he looked around. "Where is the Dovahkiin, anyway?"

Ah, and here was where things got difficult. Rikke hadn't exactly informed Tullius about her... Words... With the Dovahkiin. Lifting her chin up, she met the General's eyes unwaveringly. "I have sent him to clear out Fort Hraggstad where the Stormcloaks have amassed." She pressed forward as Tullius sputtered his disapproval. "All members joining the Legion must prove themselves. The Dovahkiin is no different. Besides, it needs done. And like I said, this is just helping build him up like we need."

Paling, the General shook his head. "You treat the Dovahkiin like some peon off the street coming in to enlist."

"No, to be honest I'd probably go easier on a peon," she admitted, "But we can't afford to work up having a Dovahkiin on our side and then end up... Realizing... That he's not everything we desired. That he's... Not going to be useful. Besides, this gives us a chance to see what he can do. Where his training needs to go from here. This is our chance to see what direction best to build him in. Think of it as an... _Initial assessment_."

"And how will we know that his accounts are true," Tullius growled through clenched teeth. "Not saying the Dovahkiin would lie, but young men have a tendency to..."

"Overreact? Overestimate? Exaggerate?"

Tullius plaintively ignored her prodding comments and continued as if she'd said nothing. "Young men have a tendency to _elaborate_ on their adventures. How will we know his tales upon return are truth and not... Creative license?"

"He's not going alone. We'll just get the story from both of them."

"Both of them? Who's going with him?"

"Belrand."

"Belrand!?" The sip of wine that the General had just taken now lay in spots across both the War Room table and Rikke herself. "The sellsword that loiters around the Winking Skeever?"

Flicking a drop of spittle from her cheek, Rikke's lips crumpled in slight disgust. "Yes. One and the same. Don't look so horrified. He may be annoying to you, but he'll serve the Dovahkiin well. He is an experienced Battlemage and quite skilled with heavy armor and all varieties of weapons. I'm sure he's hauling the Dovahkiin to the smithy right now to improve his arsenal. You should be thankful someone so knowledgeable is accompanying the Dovahkiin. And though he is a thorn in your side, Belrand is trustworthy to the Legion. You can't deny that."

"I hope you're right, Rikke. And I very much hope that for the sake of the Empire, the Dovahkiin returns successful."

From her place at the table, Rikke watched Tullius leave her alone in the War Room before sinking into a chair, exhausted from the discussion. With a sigh, she laid her arms onto the table and allowed her forehead to drop onto them. This was all becoming infinitely more complicated in ways that General Tullius was unaware of. Yes, having the Dovahkiin would inexorably help uneven this little stalemate between the Legion and the Stormcloaks. If the Dovahkiin did well and learned quickly, he could easily help bring the Imperials the upper hand...

Destroying many Stormcloaks on the way and eventually leading them to the defeat of Ulfric Stormcloak. To any Imperial Legionnaire, it should have sounded like the perfect plan. To Rikke, it sounded like a nightmare. A complicated, drawn out, painful nightmare.

"Oh sweet Talos," she whispered softly into her arms, "Please ensure that Hraggstad is prepared for the Dovahkiin's arrival."

She would never forgive herself if her message hadn't gotten through...


	3. Chapter 2: Long Live the Empire

**Chapter 2: Long Live the Empire**

_"Rikke, Rikke, Rikke! Loosen your grip. You won't be able to let it go. Make sure that your thumbs are pointed upwards and you're swinging overhead. A good throwing axe will only rotate once in the air before embedding into its target, so don't be so consumed with the twist."_

_The blonde haired man paused a second to let the information sink in before nodding to her to proceed. Hands loosened slightly on the grip as he had indicated and she took a breath, finding her posture. With every ounce of force in her, Rikke hefted the heavy throwing axe over her head and flung it forward where it... Sunk... Deeply... Into the ground... About fifty feet away from her target._

_Damn._

_Chuckling slightly, the man took a few strides toward the axe, popped it out of the ground and propped it on his shoulder as he moved back to Rikke. "You forget yourself, my child."_

_"Pappa! I didn't mean to miss!"_

_The chuckle turned into a full belly laugh as her father nodded. "Of course you didn't. Nobody ever means to miss. But you'll never hit, either, if you can't remember how to prepare yourself and your axe. Now. What mistake did you make, Little Rikke? Can you tell me?"_

_There was that stupid 'little Rikke' again. God she hated that so much. He only said it when she was doing something wrong. She knew that it was meant to be a cute nickname but... Rikke would much rather stick with Rikke. Still, she looked at the throwing axe, looked at her father, then looked at her target with a sigh. "I threw too hard."_

_"Indeed."_

_Looking at the ground, Rikke scuffed her feet in the dirt of the practice arena, saying nothing. Very gently, her father lifted her chin to meet her eyes with a smile in his own. "There is no harm in mistakes, Rikke. In fact, I think this proves you are stronger than many children your age. Not only can you heft a throwing axe, but you can manage to get one stuck firmly in the ground. That is an accomplishment."_

_Swelling with some sort of pride through her mistake, Rikke smiled broadly until her father knelt at her level to speak to her. "Just remember, dear one, that you must master precision before you master your strength. If you are precise with your hit, you will injure your enemy at the very least – if your axe is sharp. But if you lack precision and simply throw with all you have, it is likely that you will kill the wrong person and be left defenseless and fatigued yourself. Precision before Power."_

_Rikke nodded and opened her mouth to say something just as her father swooped her up. "I think that is enough for today, Little Rikke. Let us return home where you can sharpen that axe of yours. And we'll see what kind of delicious dinner your mother has cooked up."_

* * *

_The covers were pulled up to Rikke's chin, keeping her warm even in such a cold night. Windhelm was not improperly named – it was not the cold, but the wind that could get to you. And Rikke could feel it coming in between the stones in her bedroom wall. Typically, she would have gotten up and stuffed it full of straw to fill it and gone back to bed. But not tonight. Tonight, her parents were sitting by the fire, close enough for her to hear their voices as they spoke – and she wanted to listen._

_"What if she doesn't want to?"_

_"Want to what? Be a Legionnaire? Come now, look how she practices! Once she learns to slow down a bit and focus before swinging she'll be unstoppable. She has the strength and the know-how and-,"_

_"You are not hearing me. What if she does not want to be a Legionnaire? Do you know she does? Have you asked her?"_

_Silence fell in the other room and Rikke knew why. No, her father had not asked her. Had never asked her. Had simply assumed that her interest in weapons and battle were because of a dream to be a Legionnaire. And... Weren't they? Nestling further into her bed, she no longer paid attention to the voices that had picked up again, too consumed by her own thoughts._

_Her father – A Legate of Windhelm – had been a Legionnaire since he was old enough to join. He'd made the journey on foot to Solitude, where he met Rikke's mother. They had both joined the Legion and trained to the best of the Imperial's abilities before returning to Windhelm, her father's home. His skill and intellect made him a candidate for fast promotion and he stood as Legate only a few years following Rikke's birth. It was all he knew. All he loved. And her mother, also a Legionnaire, followed her Oath very closely. On some days, Rikke was disgusted with the life that they had chosen for themselves: Simply being disposable speed bumps for the Jarl of Windhelm and the Emperor. Able to be told what to do as Legion 'property', as it was said. She supposed this was true in any army, but that didn't make it alright. It didn't make it acceptable for people to be property. Perhaps she would serve in other ways. By being an apothecary. Or a court wizard... Not that she knew any magic. But she could learn! ...Right?_

_On other days, the life of a Legionnaire was exactly what she wanted. If not for the correct reasons._

_As the last remaining child of two Legionnaires, Rikke had a thirst to prove herself. Her oldest deceased sibling – a brother – would have been the son her parents wanted to carry on their name. He, however, died shortly after birth. Her other sibling – another brother only a few years older than she – had died last year. He had been training for the Legion outside the grounds of Windhelm when he came down with the fever and the chills, unable to breathe without wheezing and rattling. He wasted at home for several weeks before dying, apologizing to his father for never being able to become a Legionnaire._

_Maybe that should have told Rikke something. Maybe that should have been indicative that her father was pushing the Legion upon his children. Instead, it made Rikke all that much more hungry for success. Her father would have had a son in the Legion if not for the rattles. If only they had called for aid from the apothecary sooner. But they hadn't. And now, all they were left with was Rikke._

_Little Rikke who wasn't sure she wanted the path they had chosen._

_Little Rikke who just wanted to be someone important._

_As her father's boots suddenly moved on the floor of the kitchen, coming toward her room, she snapped her eyes shut and slowed her breathing. By the time he opened the door to peek in on her, she looked the very image of fast asleep. She heard his soft chuckle as he retreated toward the door. "Sleep well, my little Legionnaire."_

* * *

_"Stop it! You're hurting me!"_

_"Well if you wouldn't have gone outside today and rolled around in the dirt, I wouldn't have to be pulling dirt and knots out of your hair, now would I?"_

_"It's not my fault! Friga Shatter-Shield was calling me a tomboy! And I'm not a tomboy! So I had to teach her a lesson!"_

_Her mother – fully clothed in the arms of an Imperial Legionnaire – took Rikke by the shoulders and whirled her around to look at her, momentarily forgetting about the gargantuan knot at the back of Rikke's head. "Rikke. Did you hurt Friga Shatter-Shield?"_

_"No! I... I mean... Okay, maybe I pushed her. And maybe she fell. But she was being mean and she deserved it!"_

_"Was that all you did? Pushed her?" There was something in her mother's eye that Rikke recognized. The look that plainly said that if Rikke lied, she would know._

_"No," she sighed. "But... Okay I pushed her and I pulled her hair. And... I might have... Stepped on her dress. But I wasn't the one that put the cuts on her face! That was Revyn Sadri! She called him a dirty orphan! So he punched her. I didn't do that. I promise."_

_"You didn't do what? Punch her, or call Revyn a dirty orphan?"_

_"Neither! I didn't! I like Revyn – more now since he punched stupid Friga Shatter-Shield. And I wouldn't call him that. Or punch anyone. I mean... Not a girl, anyway."_

_Turning Rikke back around with an exasperated sigh, her mother continued on the knot in the back of her hair. "A few things. First of all, I don't think you need to be playing outside for a while. Not until you've cooled off from this Shatter-Shield business. I'm sure I'll have to go and apologize to Tova for this incident. And another thing... I don't think you should be playing with Revyn Sadri anymore."_

_Pulling from her mother's grip, Rikke spun around to stare her in the face. "What!? But... Revyn is one of my only friends! I'll barely have anyone to play with if you won't let me see Revyn."_

_There was a sadness in the way the woman looked at her daughter, knowing it was true. Rikke didn't make friends easily. She was far too tomboyish for most girls and as she grew up, most of the boys would only see her as one of them – not a woman for commitment. But how could she explain that to one so young as Rikke? How could she tell the girl not to be herself?_

_Pushing it out of her mind, she reached behind her daughter's head to finally smooth out the pesky not. "Just... Not for a while. Maybe next week you can go play with Revyn again. But right now, you need to look presentable. I laid out your best dress on the bed. Hop into it and we'll be off. We're meeting your father outside the Palace of the Kings."_

_Rikke, who had been pulling on the dress she so hated, turned to her mother inquisitively. "Why are we going there?"_

_"I told you, dear," was the response as her mother distractedly locked all the doors but the front. "The Jarl's son, Ulfric, has been summoned by the Greybeards. It is a great honor to have the gift of the Voice and he is departing today to take the road to High Hrothgar. All of Windhelm will be there to see him off. Even... Friga Shatter-Shield. So be nice. Be good. I want your best behavior."_

_"The Voice?! Stupid Ulfric Stormcloak has the Voice!?"_

_"Is everybody stupid but you," her mother inquired with a teasing smile._

_"Yes! Yes they are! Why does Ulfric have the Voice!? He does not have the Voice! He's lying! Tell the Greybeards he's lying! He's nothing special! He fights like a girl!"_

_"And how would you know that?"_

_She didn't need to ask. Rikke had challenged almost every child in Windhelm to a brawl at least once and no child of a Jarl would look any different to Rikke than anyone else. Indeed, that was exactly what had come about._

_"He was out... Being poncy! In his stupid nice clothes and his stupid sable hat. He wanted to play with the other children but they wouldn't let him. I said I would play with him but he told me he didn't want to play with a frilly girl! So I punched him in his stupid face and he ran away crying."_

_Rikke didn't understand the horror that was set upon her mother's face. She did not understand that even if it was a transgression of a child, such a thing could be punishable by the Jarl. "When was this, Rikke?"_

_"Last year."_

_Breathing a sigh of relief, her mother shook her head and took Rikke's hand, tugging her out of the house. "He must not have known who you were – or must not have told his father. Just don't do it again, Rikke. He is the Jarl's son and if you do wrong by him, you do wrong by the Jarl which means your father and I could be in trouble."_

_Pausing, Rikke's heart sank. Not because she had punched Ulfric Stormcloak – she didn't feel bad about that. In fact, she'd do it again. But no. She felt pain that she could have gotten her mother and father into trouble. That was not her intention. She resolved to be good and proper during this ceremony to see Ulfric off. She would make her parents proud!_

_"Rikke, stop dawdling. We need to go. We can't miss Ulfric's departure."_

* * *

_The courtyard in front of the Palace of the Kings was packed, of course. Everyone in Windhelm had shown up to see Ulfric off to High Hrothgar. Luckily, with her father as a Legate, Rikke and her mother were guaranteed a front row spot and managed to find her father quite easily. From her place at the front, Rikke could see down the entire walkway from the doors of the palace to the archway that marked the end of the courtyard. She could easily throw a rock at Ulfric with this kind of view. But... No. She promised herself she would behave and she would. For her parents._

_Not for stupid Ulfric._

_Apparently, she and her mother had nearly been late, for only a few moments after their arrival, the Bear of Eastmarch came out, escorted by housecarls, guards, and his son, Ulfric. Standing before them all, he began to speak about Windhelm, the loyalty of his people and the privilege that was now going to be given to his son. Rikke wasn't paying any attention at all. She didn't want to hear about stupid Ulfric and his stupid gift or his stupid privilege. He was stupid. That was all Rikke cared to know about him. And she was relieved when the Jarl stopped speaking and announced that Ulfric would be leaving, accompanied by several guards to see him to High Hrothgar safely._

_As the group advanced down the walkway, Rikke was fascinated to see Ulfric now. Many of the times she had seen him and the few she had interacted with him, he had always been in nice clothes and furs and jewels. Now, he looked much different. Though he was only eleven, he looked much older in the armor and weapons he had been given for his journey. Guiltily, Rikke's first thought was how a stone wouldn't matter with armor like that unless she could hit him in the face. Which she wasn't going to do._

_Her eyes traced him as he came closer, continuing toward the end of the courtyard. Before Rikke realized it, she had locked eyes with Ulfric Stormcloak – who recognized her, she knew. There was anger in his eyes when he realized who she was, though he made no motion except to keep walking, as if ignoring her while still looking at her. Confusing and irritating and stupid. Before she thought it through, Rikke stuck her tongue out evilly at Ulfric, who momentarily looked wounded at the gesture._

_"Rikke!"_

_Her mother hissed at her but to no avail. Rikke had already ducked under, between and around people in the crowd, escaping back through Windhelm._

_Once Ulfric was safely out of the courtyard, it was her father that came after her, finding her on the stump outside the house, unable to get back in without the key. Though she was turned away from him, he could see that she was crying. Announcing himself with heavy footfalls, he sat down on the stump beside her and slung an arm around her shoulders. For quite some time, neither of them said anything. He allowed Rikke to initiate the conversation._

_"I hate him..."_

_"Ulfric? Why is that?"_

_"He... He's just plain mean."_

_"Well, well... It seems to me that you were the one that stuck your tongue out at him. And I daresay he looked quite hurt over it."_

_"He'd be hurt over anyone that did anything mean to him."_

_"You don't like people being mean to you, do you?"_

_She didn't, but she was fairly sure that it happened more to her than it happened to Ulfric. Instead of speaking, she simply shook her head and wiped at her dampened eyes._

_"Now why don't you tell me what is truly troubling you."_

_Sniffing a few times, Rikke hiccuped slightly from the tears and excitement before looking up at her father. "Why does Ulfric get to study with the Greybeards? Ulfric is stupid. He doesn't have the Voice. He did something and he lied. What if someone else had it? What if I had it?"_

_For reasons she couldn't fathom, a smile appeared on her father's face. He had, of course, realized that what burned in Rikke's veins was jealousy and offense that it was Ulfric and not her that had been summoned by the Greybeards. Odd, as she had never mentioned wanting the Voice._

_"You have never expressed interest in the ways of the Voice. Is that what you want? To be able to Shout and go to High Hrothgar and worship Kynareth for the rest of your life?"_

_Well that didn't sound right. "No! I... I want to be special."_

_"You are special, Little Rikke. You are the most special thing in my life and your mother's."_

_"No! I want to be special to all of Tamriel! I want to do something! Stupid Ulfric gets to do something! I want to do something! I want to be great. I want to be unique! I want to do something that Tamriel will remember me for! It's not fair! All of Tamriel is going to remember stupid Ulfric!"_

_A lull came to the conversation as her father weighed his words. "You have plenty of potential, Rikke."_

_"Nu-huh. … … ...Potential for what?"_

_"Well I don't think that even 'stupid Ulfric' can handle a blade as well as you can."_

_From tear-stained eyes came a small glimmer of hope and the tiniest of smiles. "Really?"_

_"Really. Now why don't you run and get your blades and we'll practice to make you the best General the Legion has ever seen. You will be a great warrior for Tamriel, the Emperor, and the Jarl or Eastmarch."_

_"The... Jarl of... Ulfric's father!? No! I will not serve Eastmarch! Never never never!"_

_He was left simply to chuckle as his daughter ran off stubbornly. It seemed such a silly thing. But it was difficult to argue with eight-year-olds._

* * *

_The Great War had begun. The Altmeri Dominion was a strong opponent but the Empire was holding strong. It seemed so silly that there was such a war going on when Windhelm... It was so quiet. All that Rikke could hear was her father's voice in her head saying over and over and over what a wonderful Legionnaire she would be. It was like a sickening chant in her head. Over and over and over. All she could smell was the fresh dirt that covered the graves of her mother and father – both of whom had been felled in combat by the Thalmor. The Thalmor whom she could never forgive for taking her parents away. She didn't have details. She didn't know how they had been killed or where it had occurred. She didn't care. All she knew was that she was sixteen and very alone. The bodies had been returned for burial, each with their Amulets of Talos intact. Rikke ensured that they wore the Amulets of Talos when they were interred – a symbol of their undying loyalty to the Empire and the worship of Talos._

_For many days she sat by their graves, taking food from those who had the charity to bring it. For many days she wondered hopelessly what to do. Guidance was slow in coming. It was on the sixth day sitting by the graves that Friga Shatter-Shield, a woman with which Rikke had exchanged few words, came bearing a blanket._

_"I thought... You might be cold at night."_

_Turning slowly to look at her, Rikke's face was emotionless. "I am cold all of the time, now."_

_Gently, Friga draped the blanket over Rikke's shoulders. "My heart goes out to you. For your loss. May they be happy and protected in Sovngard."_

_The words were touching – particularly from someone that Rikke had so mistreated in the past – but yet she could not seem to feel anything for Friga. Or anyone. She was empty and alone._

_Friga left soon after bestowing the gift of warmth upon Rikke, leaving her alone once again with her parents. True to Windhelm, the wind began to pick up, threatening to blow Rikke's gift away. Attempting to snatch at it, her hand closed around something solid in a fold of the blanket. Unwrapping the corner, she barely noticed that the blanket flew away as she looked down at the Amulet of Talos nestled in her hand._

_Her parents loved Talos. Worshipped Talos. The very thing being threatened by this war. They fought to preserve their right to worship him. Had died for it._

_And Rikke would do the same._

_The only clues left that anyone had been to the graveyard were the blanket, caught on the branches of a dead tree and the footsteps – leading to the doors of Windhelm._

* * *

_The road to Solitude was long. But Rikke persevered and found herself standing before Legate Tullius, the man who handled the recruits. This was what her father had always wanted: Rikke to be a Legionnaire. This was what her mother had always wanted: Rikke to fight for a cause she believed in. And this was what Rikke wanted: To slaughter those who had killed her parents._

_"Your Oath, please, Recruit Rikke."_

_"Upon my honor I do swear undying loyalty to the Emperor, Titus Mede II, and unwavering obedience to the officers of his great Empire. May those above judge me, and those below take me, if I fail in my duty. Long live the Emperor! Long live the Empire!"_

* * *

Jerking awake, Legate Rikke found herself in the Castle Dour barracks, blinded with a splitting headache. Dreams and memories of the past always seemed to awaken her with pain. Long ago, it had been the pain in the heart of being reminded of her parents' death. Of being reminded she was left alone and such a young age and had to resort to lies about her age in order to fight to avenge them. Now, that pain had eased. Her heart still felt burdened with her parents' deaths, but it was bearable now. She had accepted it. Had come to terms with it as she had gotten the chance to slaughter Thalmor.

Given the circumstances, she shouldn't be proud of the mer she had killed. But she was. To this day, she had never washed the blood off of the

Amulet of Talos that she wore beneath her clothes, hidden. Some was her blood. Some was Thalmor. It didn't matter. It was a symbol. One she kept always on her person.

Pulling the furs off of her, she shivered in the cold beneath only her smallclothes. Quietly, she pulled on a set of robes and stepped out into the kitchen, searching high and low. While they did not get shipments often, she happened to know that one from Riften had come in only a fortnight ago carrying several bottles of Black Briar Mead and Black Briar Reserve. She could use one since there didn't seem to be any Skooma in sight.

In the back of one of the cabinets, she managed to fish out three bottles of Black Briar Mead and two of the Reserve. Taking all five bottles to a small alcove off the kitchen, she pulled the tops from two and guzzled them quickly, swiftly finishing the remaining three and waiting for the beautiful intoxication to wash over her. These days, being drunk at night was a blessing.

It was the only thing to ward off the nightmares on the nights she slept alone.


End file.
